


I Want You To Want Me (And If You Want, Then Girl, You've Got Me)

by zahrawrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bar Room Brawl, Canon Compliant, Dean does have a fight in a bar, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Hunters, Pining Dean, Pining Jo, i guess, i'm probably missing a load of stuff sorry, should I be tagging it as that?, so there, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:52:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3756871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zahrawrites/pseuds/zahrawrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jo and Dean should be together. </p><p>Title is from Want To Want Me by Jason Derulo.<br/>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rClUOdS5Zyw<br/> </p><p>As usual, constructive criticism and comments are always welcome.</p><p>Enjoy x</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want You To Want Me (And If You Want, Then Girl, You've Got Me)

"Stop being such a chicken!" Jo whispers harshly, punching Dean in the forearm.

"Ow! What the hell, Jo?!"

She ignores him and tiptoes down the stairs, heels in one hand and Dean's hand grasped in the other. He stumbles on the last step and causes a few thumps.

"Shit!" Jo shoves him against the wall, a hand covering his mouth. Chest to chest, mascara-ed eyes meeting wide grass green ones, they hold baited breaths to see if they've been found out. After a few moments of silence from the rest of the house, Jo releases Dean.

"If Ellen finds out, she's gonna slaughter me." he exhales.

"Better make sure she doesn't find out then." Jo replies pointedly.

"We can't take the Impala, her engine'll wake the whole house." he sighs.

She smirks as she cautiously pulls open the back door. "Better get your walking shoes on then."

Dean scoffs as he follows her out. "You're one to talk, how are _you_ gonna walk in heels?"

She waits until he's in front of her before she jumps on his back.

"You're gonna carry me, _that's_ how."

He groans and stumbles a little to brace himself. Her hands lock over his broad chest as his palms run under the smooth skin of her legs to hold her up.

They talk about everything and nothing for the ten minutes it takes them to reach the nearest bar. Dean lets her down easy and looks away to let her adjust herself.

He worries his lip as he eyes the bikers outside absently wondering if he's going to end up stumbling home with bruises tonight.

"What's wrong?" Jo asks from beside him, her hands smoothing down her front.

"I was..." The words die in his throat as he turns to look at her. Her tight, strapless black dress doesn't need to leave anything to the imagination. The parking lot lights illuminate her blonde hair which flows over her shoulder in long waves; heels on, she looks nothing like the Jo that Dean has come to know. Nothing like the 16 year old she actually is.

"Uh..." Dean articulates cleverly.

"Hey! Eyes up here cowboy." she snaps her fingers twice and points to her face.

"Oh please, like I would hit on you." he scoffs. He means it in a _your-mom-would-beat-me-with-a-stick-if-I-ever-tried-it_ sort of way, but judging by the hurt that flashes in Jo's eyes, she misunderstands.

By the time he's swung open the bar door to follow after her, she's already leaning against the bar, twirling a lock of her hair, running a palm up and down some old guy's bicep. She leans into him and pushes her chest out, giggling dramatically at whatever he says. Dean bets his Impala it's not even as remotely as funny as she makes it look.

He shakes his head and makes his way over to the tables near the back. Jo follows his movement. The bar is busy, like it should be on a Friday night.

The entire purpose of this evening is so she can prove that she can score free drinks. Dean thinks it's stupid. He can get her drinks. And her mom _owns_ a fucking bar.

He looks up to see that the old guy's already brushed her off. Dean manages to only lip read the word _jailbait_ in his speech. Jo looks offended.

Dean waits.

Three more guy's reject her until her shoulder's sag and she stalks her way over to Dean, dragging her tail between her legs. She slumps on the stool opposite him but before either of them can comment, a blonde, perky waitress stops at their table.

"Can I get you anything?" She directs the question at Dean. He smiles, the one he knows will work, and looks up at her, making it obvious that he's checking her out. She flips her hair and Jo's just about ready to stick her fingers down her own throat.

"Just two cold ones, thanks sweetheart." He says, voice all honey and confidence.

She nods and narrows her eyes playfully. "I'm not gonna have to card you, am I?"

Jo knows that if she wanted to card him, she would've done it already.

"Honey, I can be as old as you want me to be." He replies easily with a wink.

She just giggles, slides a palm down his arm, says, "Two cold ones coming right up, handsome." and walks away, an extra sway in her step. Dean watches her leave with an appreciative tilt of the head.

Jo's glaring at him when he looks back at her.

"What?"

"I don't get it. I give up." She throws her arms up in defeat. Her expression changes to confusion. "How the hell does that work for you?"

Dean just smirks. "Some people got it, some people don't."

Jo scoffs defiantly and they lapse into silence until they wait for their drinks. Elbow on the table, she rests her chin in her palm and looks around at the other customers. Dean watches her; the way her hair falls, the curve of her lips, the way the soft lighting illuminates her eyes. The life they lead doesn’t allow them to get attached to people. The Harvelle’s are just old friends. Apparently, when they were little, Jo and Dean practically grew up together. They were separated for years when Jo’s dad died on a hunt with John. Some sort of unspoken grudge and tension settled between the elders in the family. But Dean still missed Jo. Hell, even Sammy spoke about her sometimes in those dark motel rooms. About how strong she was, how she could kick Dean’s ass if she wanted.

Then something happened, and before they knew it, John and the boys were standing on The Harvelle’s doorstep, duffel bags in hand. He barely came inside. Just said something to Bobby about there being a hunt in the area and if the boys could stay for a while.

That was two years ago.

In hindsight, he doubts Ellen would’ve said no.

After the first few days of expected awkwardness and stumbling around each other, they got on like a house on fire; like they’d never been apart.

The waitress interrupts his thoughts by placing the drinks on their table with a flirtatious smile; Dean returns one that just about reaches his eyes.

"Lemme know if you need anything else." She says.

"Sure." He replies and she saunters away.

"You gonna fuck her?" Jo asks bluntly.

Dean almost chokes on his drink. " _Jesus_ , Jo."

She’s unfazed. "Is that a yes or a no?"

"What do you care?"

She half-shrugs and drinks from her bottle. "I need to know if I’m going home alone tonight."

That stops him in his tracks. He _could_ get laid if he wanted.

He just drinks from his bottle in response.

When they’ve emptied the first ones, Jo hops off the stool with some renewed vigor in her step and says, "I’m gonna get another round."

He holds up his index finger. "Just one." He says sternly. "I’m not taking you back even _slightly_ tipsy."

She sticks out her tongue at him and saunters to the bar. His bites into his bottom lip as he watches her leave before shaking his head and draining the last few drops of his drink. He tries to stay distracted, he really does but his gaze is drawn back to her figure, leaning against the bar, hand trailing through her hair, weight balanced on one leg. The bartender leans in close to her and she laughs at something he says, before she points back to their table.

Dean’s attention is drawn by a loud whoop from the pool tables, Jo’s is too. He watches her glance over and meet the gaze of one of the tall, dark haired guys wearing a cardigan. Dean grimaces because nobody around here wears a fucking _cardigan_. They’re obviously pretentious, rich, frat boys spending daddy’s money… who Jo still hasn’t looked away from. The guy smiles at her – obviously glad that his cry for attention is met - and she returns it, raising a hand shyly in greeting.

The bartender places two bottles in front of her, she picks one up, wraps her lips around the top and drinks from it. She knows what she’s doing and it works because then he’s walking towards her. He sits on the stool beside her and Dean’s never felt so inadequate. He can’t give her that – the money, and the cars, and _that_ lifestyle. He’s never going to make it to college. Hell, he doesn’t even know if he’ll make it to next week.

"Looks like your friend’s found a new friend." The waitress says, nodding to Jo, and taking their empty bottles.

"Yeah, looks like." He agrees, trying not to sound too down.

Jo leaves the guy for a minute and comes back to their table with a smile wider than he’s seen in a while. The waitress leaves.

"Who’s the douche?" he can’t help but ask, taking a swig from the bottle that Jo hands him.

She either doesn’t notice his bitterness or overlooks it, and replies, "Chad." _Fucking typical douche name_. Dean rolls his eyes and receives a punch in the arm for it.

"He’s goes to a college a few states over so he’s not in town for long." She adds excitedly like Dean even cares. He takes another gulp. "His dad owns some huge ass showroom in the city and sells supercars."

"That’s _great_." Dean replies, sarcasm dripping from his words, wishing he would’ve tried harder to dissuade Jo from coming out tonight.

She doesn’t stop smiling and makes to leave but in a burst of protectiveness, he grabs her wrist.

"Jo, don’t-" he pauses, wondering if he even has any right. "…just, be careful." He amends, looking past her to _Chad_ who’s now flanked by his other two douche friends. He’s sat on the stool facing them, elbows leaning back on the bar, a smirk on his face.

Dean doesn’t like him. Something seems off.

"Relax, Dean. We’re just gonna talk." She replies and pulls out of his grip. He lets her go.

In the ten minutes that go by, Dean manages to distract himself and now the blonde waitress – Jenny – is standing in the V of his legs, leaning into his ear and whispering something about making him feel good, but all he can see over her shoulder is _Chad_ running his filthy hands all over Jo. He's introduced Jo to his friends and judging by her body language, she doesn’t like them very much so stays by Chad’s side instead. Douchey McFuckface doesn’t register her dislike, and runs a hand down her arm and warning signs are going up in Dean’s head.

Jo smiles at him but it’s not genuine – Dean can tell because her lips don’t curve right – in fact, he’s pretty sure he’s the _only_ one who can tell right now, because Chad just laughs at something his friend says and slides a hand around her waist and pulls her closer to his side. She crosses an arm over her body, gripping the elbow of the other one, in response.

 _C’mon Jo._ Dean thinks. _Screw this asshole._ _Dump his ass._

Chad says something and the smile drops off Jo’s face like a ton of bricks. She leans away from him to pull out of his grip but he tightens his hold.

Dean’s out of his seat before he can even think.

 

-X-x-X-

 

Chad’s a Grade A douchebag and she’s gonna dump his ass.

She’d tried, played the role, smiled, giggled, and _pretended_. She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t understand why Dean doesn't say he likes her. She tries to act like those girls, the pretty ones that he really likes.

Jo's liked Dean since _forever_.

Her little crush has gotten worse since that time in her backyard.

She liked to sit on the steps of her back porch every day at sunset and just remember her Dad for a bit. It became a ritual. The days got busy but she made time just before the sun went down. Her mom knew and didn't disturb her.

She’d had a hard day at school. Some graffiti on her locker about being a freak or something; Jo didn't remember exactly because every week it’d been something different. But it’s grates on you, the constant bullying, and name-calling, and just generally screwing with her.

She could handle her own.

She might’ve been the freak with the knife collection but she had a _knife collection_ , which is why most other kids didn’t want to know her.

That day was just hard. She didn’t understand why but before she knew it, she was crying. It wasn’t the wailing ridiculously kind of crying, it was the quiet kind that hurt her insides.

She couldn’t wipe it away quick enough before Dean was sitting down beside her rattling on about how Sammy was being a little bitch again. She turned her head away and didn’t respond, didn’t tell him that he should give his brother a break, that he should be glad he _has_ a brother at least.

He'd noticed her silence. That's what got on her nerves about him - he was good at reading people. He'd asked if she was okay. She nodded. He didn't believe her.

" _Look at me_." He'd said, so fucking softly that she couldn't not listen to him.

He'd been twirling a flower in his fingers, probably pulled out from the ground, too. Jo didn't know what it was called but it was pretty.

" _School?_ " He'd guessed. Her silence had been enough.

" _Screw those assholes. They don't deserve you._ " He'd defended, so determinedly. But words were just words, she knew that. Like how his dad had promised he'd be back soon so Dean's been living out of his duffel since he got there.

" _Your dad would be proud of you_." He'd added quietly. Then he'd scoffed quietly, probably thinking about John, and looked down at the flower between his fingers.

" _He'll be back_." Jo had tried. Dean had just shook his head and looked at her.

She hadn't looked away. Sometimes, she wishes she had. Maybe, things would be different. Maybe, he wouldn't have brushed that stray strand of blonde hair away from her face. Maybe, he wouldn't have tucked the flower behind her ear so gently, like he was afraid of breaking her.

Maybe, she wouldn't have fucking fallen in love with him.

But she did.

And here they are now.

"Let me go." She says firmly but struggles in his hold.

"Relax." Chad reassures.

"She said let her go." And Jo's never been so glad to hear Dean's voice.

Dean takes her free hand and tugs but Chad doesn't let go.

"Hey man, mind your own business, me and the little lady here were talking."

"Shut your mouth and move." Dean growls. "I am not in the mood."

He pushes Jo towards Douche Two and Three and steps towards Dean.

"Hey, maybe you can't count but are three of us and one of you." He sneers.

Dean straightens fully; shoulders square, back straight, chin up. It's automatic, his dad's taught him well, and he feels about six inches taller. Chad's expression falters momentarily.

"So, why don't you get a couple more fellas?" Dean says, looking over at Douche Two and Three. "And we'll call it an even fight."

"Oh, the pretty boy thinks he's funny." Chad replies, recovering easily, and Douche Two and Three laugh on cue.

"C'mon, let it go." Chad tries to persuade Dean. He leans in conspiratorially and says in a not-so-quiet voice, "Tell you what-" he looks back to eye Jo up before he turns to Dean again. "-you let this go and you can get an extra ride on the pon-"

"You motherfucker!" Jo shrieks at Chad before he can finish the sentence.

Dean smirks, rage thrumming underneath his skin. Without warning, he leans back and punches Chad right in his stupid face and _god_ that feels good.

Chad stumbles back, groaning and clutching his bleeding nose.

In Chad's defence, Douche Two and Three want to join the party, too, and Dean's glad. He hasn't had a good fight in a while. Two tries to tackle him but Dean sidesteps and the guy goes straight into the pool table. Dean laughs at him and turns to meet a fist.

" _Fuck_." He groans, spitting blood.

Number Two grabs his arms and holds them while number Three punches him twice in the ribs and once in the face. When he stops to flex his fingers, Dean stomps hard on Two's foot and elbows him.

His head's pounding but he goes straight to knee number Three in the face and turns around to block Two's anticipated attack.

His vision spins and it weakens his defence allowing Two to run him into the bar. Chad's recovered and pushes Two off of him to have a go himself. He grabs Dean's shirt front to pull him up and punch him.

His vision's spinning dangerously and his head is pounding in the worst way, and he's pretty sure something's broken.

Before he knows what's happened, he hears Jo yell something and then Chad crumples to the ground.

Jo's holding half a stool in her hands and the rest of it is in pieces around Chad's body.

They hear a gun cock and Jo drops the stool, rushes to Dean's side and drags him out the door.

They stumble home, all the while, Jo tries to keep him talking.

"I swear to God, Dean. I had it handled."

"Looked like it too." He replied.

"I did. You didn't have to be some fucking hero."

"Then stop looking at me like I am one."

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean?"

He just groans and clutches his head in response.

"We're almost there."

Jo takes her shoes off outside and unlocks the door quietly. She drops her shoes just inside and helps Dean up the steps, in the house and sits him on the table in the kitchen.

She retrieves two ice packs, presses one against his head, places one of his hands on top of it, and the other against his ribs and places his other hand on top of it.

He hisses in pain at the contact.

"Stop bein' such a baby." She whispers as she goes to lock the back door. The house is still asleep and they have to be quiet.

"I'm not bein' a baby. _You're_ bein' a baby." Dean retorts petulantly, words slightly slurring. His eyes keep closing.

She gets two aspirins from the cupboard and fills a glass of water.

"Here."

She stands in the V of his legs and he opens his mouth obediently. She pops the pills on his tongue, then holds the glass to his lips and tilts it slowly as he drinks, watching the bob in his throat. He finishes it and she puts the glass in the sink.

"You should have one too." He offers.

"Don't need it." She replies, retrieving the first aid kit.

She stands between his legs again and lays the kit out beside his thigh.

"You need to take your jacket off."

He drops the ice packs to the table and she helps him out of his leather jacket. After draping it over the back of the chair, she adds, "You're gonna have to take your shirt off, too. I need to see how bad it is."

He starts to unbutton it but something happens and he screws his eyes shut and grips the edge of the table either side of his legs.

"Hey, hey you okay?" She asks, going to steady him.

He nods and says, "Just gettin' dizzy. Think they really got me." He grins dopily, eyes still closed, then he blinks them open blearily and looks down at his buttoned shirt. "Maybe you should do it."

She nods and starts slowly.

How ever many times she's dreamed of doing this, never did she think it would happen in a situation like this.

She can feel his eyes on her and avoids looking up. They sit in quiet and she gets just under half way through when he speaks.

"I didn't mean it like that y'know." He murmurs.

"Mean what?"

"What I said, outside the bar, about not hitting on you."

"Let it go, Dean."

He shakes his head. "No, I need you to understand."

She sighs and decides to humour him. "Understand what?"

"That if I _ever_ tried anything with you, your mom would kill me."

"You know, she's _really_ not that bad." Jo defends because it's kind of starting to piss her off the way they talk about her like she's some sort of monster who's out to get them.

"You don't get it."

"Then, explain it, properly."

She finishes unbuttoning and he shrugs it off. She helps him take off his undershirt too and then he's naked from the waist up and sat less than a few inches away from her.

She remains standing in his legs and holds his chin carefully. She twists his head to the side with the bigger scrapes. Some are bleeding and she thinks they'll leave marks.

He picks up one ice pack and holds it over his ribs, exhaling in relief as the cold presses against the flesh, and she feels the hot breath against her collarbone.

"If I hurt you, she would never forgive me." Dean starts again, voice still hushed - the dripping of the kitchen tap is louder than they are. "I know what happened to your dad." Her fingers falter at the mention of her dad and her nails accidentally scrape against a wound. He inhales sharply at the pain.

He looks down and Jo has to tilt his head to the side again.

"My dad never said what happened exactly but I don't think she's ever forgiven him."

He wants to say something else but doesn't, so Jo speaks.

"He'll come back." She reassures because she's sure that's what he's started thinking about.

He scoffs. "I haven't seen him in two years."

"Then, why're you still living out of your duffel?" She asks adamantly. "Bobby's bought you new clothes and everything but you just keep folding them back into your bag. Sam's adjusted fine."

Dean just shrugs.

He hopes John will be back any day now – or maybe he’s just lying to himself and using that as an excuse to try and dissipate any feelings that he's developed towards her. He knows hunters can’t have relationships. There’s no point.

But it’s hard.

 _God_ , it’s hard when she looks at him like he’s some sort of hero, and laughs at his stupid jokes and patches him up with careful fingers.

The pressure of her hands against his skin is comforting. He always teases her about being a butcher when it comes to this sort of stuff but truthfully, she's great at it.

She's great at everything.

She cleans, and plasters and bandages - fingers expertly careful - and then tilts his face so he sees her straight on. Her eyes track over every one of his features to make sure she hasn't left any wound untouched.

For the first time in a long time, he really takes her in.

A curl's come loose from where she had it pinned - her hair is slightly frazzled anyway, it must've come loose in the scuffle. There's a faint bruise just under her left cheekbone and her make-up's smudged. Her ruined mascara makes her look tired - like she's rubbed at her eyes sleepily - and the red lipstick on her bottom lip has strayed outside the line around her mouth, making her lips look swollen - like she's been kissed breathless.

The volume in the room drops immensely, just the sound of their breathing is audible, and Dean can't stop staring.

Her eyes tracks upwards until she meets his soft gaze. The air between them is palpable.

"I can't give you that." Dean whispers to her. He didn't realise how much it would hurt to admit that.

"What?"

"What _he_ has - the cars, the money... the luxury. I can't give you that."

She looks like she's about to protest but he doesn't let her.

"But you deserve it. _God_ , Jo you deserve everything and I'm-" his voice breaks. "-I'm not _enough_."

He lifts a hand tentatively - in enough time for her to pull away, but she doesn't - and pushes the loose curl around her ear just like he did that time in her backyard. His hand rests against her cheek, thumb brushing over the bruise there.

Dean knows she wants to kiss him. Her hands fall to rest on each of his thighs. His eyes fall to her lips and he wants to kiss her, _needs_ to kiss her. Because if he does that then he can forget about how this shouldn't happen, he can forget about fucking Chad, he can forget about how he's never going to be good enough, about how his dad's abandoned them, about how he has no future except maybe a bullet to the head then an express train to down under.

"Ask me to stop." He pleads into the quiet.

She shakes her head, and slides her palms up his sides until she has skin-on-skin contact, and leans in.

"Tell me to stop." He tries again helplessly, lips catching against hers.

" _Please_." He adds, a breath against her mouth.

 

-X-x-X-

 

For a second, she can see it. Their whole future; Dean can get out of hunting and into school, he can go to college, and stop looking over his shoulder and under his bed and in his closet.

They can get married, settle down, have a few kids and live the apple pie life.

The one that she knows he wants.

The one that he'd love.

Something clatters in the hallway and the vision shatters. Falls to pieces in front of her eyes when Dean flinches at the sound and withdraws his hand.

They don't speak.

He just slides off the table, picks up his clothes and one ice pack, goes to the fridge to retrieve two beers and goes upstairs - all without looking back - leaving her standing alone in the dark kitchen, heart in tatters.

 

-X-x-X-

 

Fifteen years later when it's time for them to say goodbye in the hardware store, Dean wishes he'd just kissed her in that kitchen. Wishes he'd fucked everything, grown a pair, and done what we wanted.

But he can't, and they're not sixteen anymore and Jo's _dying_ and it's his fault.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and she knows what it means, she smiles weakly in response.

He leans forward and presses his lips to her forehead. Then, he cups her face and kisses her properly like he should've done.

And for that singular moment, they're both sixteen again, pressed together in that dark kitchen.

She tastes like everything he's ever wanted and he tastes like everything she knows she'll never have.

 

Ellen watches her daughter fall in love all over again with the elder Winchester when he presses their lips together... only this time, she doesn't have anything to distract them with like she did fifteen years ago in the hallway.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested, my Tumblr is [here](http://prettyboydean.tumblr.com)  
> Drop me a message, tell me what you thought - I'd really appreciate it :)


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